What is Needed
by Le Chat Domestique
Summary: One-shot. During his sixth year, Draco struggles between what he wants and what is needed.


A/N: Hello and thank you for taking the time to read my story! This had been on my mind for a while after rewatching the sixth film. This is my first fanfiction and it is a one-shot. Please feel free to leave any and all thoughts. Enjoy!

He walked back and forth three times in front of the bare expanse of wall. From a good distance, one might say he looked as if in a daze, walking idly between two invisible points he had drawn up in his muddled mind. But no, the Slytherin prince did not wander; there was a definite determination in his steps.

_You know what I need._

There was nothing noteworthy about this particular chunk of wall, no distinguishable markings or hangings, just brick layered upon brick as like everything else that made up Hogwarts castle. But by the third time Draco Malfoy had crossed from one end and back, a swift change started to occur. The faint outline of a grand door indented itself onto the stone, an elaborate design slithering its way into being. And with the blink of an eye, what once wasn't, was.

With an apathetic gaze, Draco stepped forward and reached for the circular handle that now stood in front of him. Gone were the jerky motions associated with his earlier visits, hardly a single glance was thrown around him. No, his motions were more certain, lazy, and smooth; it was almost as if he were tired.

Once he stepped in he started at once through the maze of items strewn all around in towering piles. He needn't worry about anyone following him, for he knew that the moment he had entered, the door outside had disappeared once more. Maneuvering through the various paths that entwined in dizzying turns, Draco stopped once he reached a particular cabinet.

It was a faded black, nearly grey really, with only one compartment. He pulled it open, the door widening smoothly on its well-oiled hinges. The cabinet could have held a number of cloaks, and yet it was empty save a bright green apple sitting at the bottom. Draco picked it up and turned it around, noting a sizeable bite that had not previously been there before; the edges were already beginning to brown.

_So it works. He'll be pleased._

But instead of sharing the predicted sentiments, Draco could not say that he was the least bit pleased himself. Relief seemed to have abandoned him at the moment.

In its place was a knot in his stomach, growing bigger as the reality of his situation began to sink in more deeply. He backed up until he felt his thighs hit a table behind him. He leaned against it and closed his eyes, letting his thoughts swarm in around him.

Knowing that the passage between this cabinet and its brother's worked, it was only a matter of time before the plan would spring into action. And despite knowing that his mission would soon end, bearing with it the approval and satisfaction of both his father and the Dark Lord, Draco was fully aware of the stakes he was putting himself in. His worries went beyond the righteous, safety of the school and concern for his fellow students failing to be what brewed the growing pot of trepidation. No, Draco knew that come time for his final deed, he could never lead a life that was entirely his own, one where he could fulfill his own desires. There would be no turning back.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, the room around him began to shift and change, the pillars of discarded items disappearing from view. Draco failed to realize this until he began to sink into something soft and comfortable, the biting wood of the table being replaced by what seemed to be a cushion.

Draco opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a smaller room now, one furnished with a thick oriental rug beneath his feet and a small coffee table carrying a single vased flower at his side. He was sitting on a plush, red armchair, a few feet away from a blazing fireplace that replaced the chill of the earlier setting. But what caught Draco's attention, the one thing that was most peculiar of the change that had occurred around him was the person sitting calmly in front of him on a simple wooden chair.

What alarmed him first was not the proximity of the said person, but rather how it looked. Its face flickered among many that Draco could not recognize, its shape varying ever so slightly with each passing moment. It was not restricted to one gender or ethnicity; it was both male and female, old and young.

"What are you? Why are you here?" His voice betrayed his suspicion.

"What I am, I cannot exactly say. However, I can tell you the room sent me." The being's voice, for that is all Draco could identify it as, was as ambiguous as its features. Although it spoke gently, there was a definite timber that resonated underneath. It was as if a sea of voices had combined to create this mysterious mix of one.

"I didn't ask for you. I want the room where all things are hidden," he said, steadying his voice from the overall unnerving experience this was making out to be.

"That may be what you desire, but I am what you need," was the being's only reply.

"How do I know I can trust you?" And as the words left his mouth, the being's features started to settle into one, its body taking the shape of a woman's, slim but mature. It clothed itself in fine robes, its face becoming more and more familiar to him. It wasn't until its hair became an elegant and neat coif of silvery blonde that Draco realized he was looking into the image of his mother.

"Because I am here to help you. Draco Malfoy, I am what you need in your time of confusion."

Perhaps it was the fact that he was looking into his mother's face, free of the worry lines and wrinkles that had formed over the year, that he felt this way, but Draco couldn't help but trust the person that sat across from him. He wanted- no he needed comfort. He needed help.

"I see you understand. Now tell me what is troubling you." It came as no surprise that the being's voice had changed to match its new body. Draco took a deep breath and in an uneven voice, much smaller than before, he replied,

"I'm afraid."

He looked up cautiously, expecting to see the disapproval he feared his real mother might show at his confession. He was shocked, and finally relieved, to see compassion flooding the being's features. His mock mother reached out and rested her hand on his shoulder.

"It's not too late." The words he had been both hoping for and dreading ignited a rage within him that had the hand on his shoulder flying back to its original place. Balling his hands into whitened fists, Draco yelled in exasperation,

"But it IS. My father's already being watched, he could be punished, or worse killed, if I don't follow through. _He_ has my whole life in the palm of his hand." Tears threatening to fall coated his eyes like glass. Quieter now, in a voice barely above a whisper he continued,

"He could hurt you." When he said this, Draco was neither talking to an imposter nor a figment of his imagination, as he was coming to believe. In this moment, he spoke directly to his mother, the one person whose life he cherished above his own.

"Who could, Draco? Say his name."

"Voldemort." And with the fear that accompanied that barely uttered name, his decision was made. There would be no hesitating now, for he knew what he had to do. He was no Gryffindor. The reality of his future came flooding down.

And now, it was no longer the image of his mother, battered and bloody that shook him to his core. With his eyes closed once more, another face appeared, one that sparked a forbidden desire within him. She was the one that had been holding him back; she was the one thing he did not want to give up for Him.

The soft curve of her pouty lips were downturned, her brown, doe-like eyes scrunched. Her natural beauty shone through even with her features distorted in obvious disapproval.

And when Draco opened his eyes, she was there in front of him. Sitting in the wooden chair, having taken his mother's spot.

"Will you ever accept me?"

"Is your decision made?" It was a voice that appeared persistently in his classes, never failing to respond to a teacher's question. It was a sound that haunted his dreams.

"Yes."

"Then no, I can't."

"If things were different, do you think you might have?"

"Maybe. But it's never good to dwell in what could have been." It was so straightforward and logic, so her, that Draco nearly forgot who he was really speaking to.

Once again dropping his voice low, Draco asked the question whose answer he feared above all others.

"Will you hate me when this is all over?"

There was a pause, and in the silence, thick tension hung over the both of them like a blanket.

"Never."

And that was all he needed. He leaned forward and cupped her face with his hands, taking in the depth of the chocolate orbs that stared into his own. Their foreheads met and he felt the small puffs of air that beat against his face. Three words rang clear in his  
>head, pounding against his brain, seeking escape.<p>

"I'm so sorry."

And with that, Draco swiftly rose from his armchair and left as he came, without looking back. It wasn't until his feet carried him to the entrance of his dungeons that he stopped and let himself think about what had transpired in the Room of Requirement. He let his fist connect with the wall, feeling the impact shatter the skin around his knuckles. Taking a few deep breaths, Draco once more turned to the entrance, uttered the password and began to step through into the common room, hiding his bloody hand from sight.

He had not let himself say what he wanted, what he needed, to get out. He did not allow himself the release of those words. For Draco Malfoy made his choice, he had decided his future.

And that future did not include Hermione Granger.


End file.
